


Watch Me

by RedRomRomance



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRomRomance/pseuds/RedRomRomance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it weird that I watch you? I never thought it was. Just the way I am. But if it comes out of your mouth, it must be true.</p><p>You said it was weird, but you looked flattered and your lips quirked up at the sides. You didn't mind your dormmate being weird.</p><p>I know this because I watch you.</p><p>* * * *</p><p>Gerard is a people watcher and Frank is in an abusive relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Know Him So Well

I didn't think it was weird, just the way I am. I watch people. I watch you. But if it comes out of your mouth, it must be true.

You said it was weird, but you looked flattered and your lips quirked up at the sides. You didn’t mind your dorm mate being weird.

I know this because I watch you.

The movement of your hands, the way you write. It reveals more than anything you could say aloud.

I have always studied people, watched their movements and unintentional expressions. I love being able to read people.

Not one, even my most interesting subjects, compared to you, though.

No one’s smile is brighter, eyes more beautiful. It is just a fact. There is no way anyone is better looking than you. And everyone around you sees it.

Because I watch, I know.

I know that running your hands over the tattoos there calms you down, that you desperately want to understand math, that you play Pansy more than you admit.

Your body relaxes minutely, your brow furrows and you almost beg the homework silently to make sense. Because the pick on your bedside table is wearing down slowly.

It is just the small things that I watch. I don’t follow you or anything. We are just roommates at a stuck-up college.

I want to know everything about you, though.

Because I think I am falling in love.

I can’t help but watch helplessly as your smile makes my legs feel like jello, every accidental brush up against me makes my heart race. My breathing and brain stop.

You probably think I am mute.

So I just watch the little things, smiling at you like the love-struck fool I am.

Everything you do lets me find out more about you. The China set you made dinner on the first time, swearing it’s a one time thing.

Which is good because no matter how well you do everything else, I never really did like eating charcoal.

Everything you do tells me more than a diary ever could. Or maybe everything you do is a diary. An unwritten one.

You may fool everyone else with your blinding smile, but I can see he hurt you. No one else watches closely enough to see the slight limp on your right side and how your face twitches like it wants to flinch whenever anyone raises their hand. Even your friends.

But I do.

No matter how good you are at putting on the make-up that covers your bruises, I know the color of your real skin. The make-up can’t match your regular glowing tone.

I want to stop your pain, I know it is your boyfriend who is doing this to you.

Somehow, through the pain, your eyes manage to light up.

He beats you because he loves you.

What a load of bullshit.

Every pose you make at me when I send you a questioning look dares me to tell you otherwise. That you won’t listen anyway.

I know.

“Please, Frankie. Listen to me. If he lays hands on you, it. Is. Not. Love.” It slips out and I know how you will react before you even do.

“What would you know about it? He loves me! I just keep messing up. Okay? Why do you care? It’s not like you know anything about love!” I know you will regret saying it in the morning, no matter how true you think it is. You hate hurting your friends. But in this moment, and maybe every after. You believe it.

“Because I know I love you.” Shit. Even in my three months of knowing you, being friends, watching you, I don’t know how you will react.

So punching me in the face is a surprise.

I have never seen you so angry, I know I have crossed a line I didn’t know existed.

For all my watching, all the small things, I am still the mute weirdo who is your roommate.

I don’t feel it, but the tears come anyway as I lay on the floor.

‘If he lays a hand on you, it. Is. Not. Love. If he lays a hand on you, it. Is. Not. Love. If he lays a hand on you, it. Is. Not. Love.’

“If he lays a hand on you, it. Is. Not. Love.” I did know your voice could sound like a knife, used like one, but until it was aimed at me I didn’t realize how deep it could cut.

It was what I get, when in a battle between my heart and mind, it is what I get for letting my heart win.

I knew you would be sorry for it in the morning, but you would never apologize.

I didn’t know you well enough to guess you wouldn’t come back to your dorm for a week.

I felt so bad I didn’t bother to cover the bruise you made or the sadness I felt.

I know you think I’m almost pretty much mute, but my close friends and family noticed my sadness and lack of talking.

The next time you came back through the dorm door I had been drawing. You, actually. Everything about you, it was kind of a self-portrait. I was trying to get in your head, draw you as you were.

You came in as quietly as you could, but I was wide awake.

I found it hard to fall asleep without your steady breathing I had become accustomed to hearing.

You looked horrible, no amount of make-up would cover the bruises on you face, neck, and hands. That was all I could see. Your lip was bleeding and I found myself holding an icepack and a warm wash-cloth.

It wasn’t the right time to apologize, we both knew it.

So we didn’t.

I helped you get out of your shredded and bloodied shirt and you held the ice-pack to your face.

I wanted to ask, but it didn’t seem like the right time. But for a situation like this, there will never be a ’right time.’

“What-”

I didn’t expect you to burst out crying. My hand was on your stomach, but lightly so it couldn’t be that. But, why…?

I didn’t expect you to kiss me.

Neither did you if your running away into the bathroom was any indication.


	2. Used To Know

I didn’t expect you to kiss me.

And you didn’t either if your running into the bathroom was any indication.

I could still feel the ghost tingle of your lips on mine as I got up to walk over to the bathroom door. Almost tripping over your ripped and bloody shirt we had left on the floor.

“Frank, you can come out. I know it didn’t mean anything. It’s fine. I’m not mad or anything.”

I didn’t expect you to answer, I wasn’t surprised when I didn't get one.

I knew it wasn’t a mean silence, it was just your defense mechanism when you are guilty and sorry.

I know you, because I watch.

But watching you wasn’t the answer anymore.

The bathroom door was cold against my back as I slid down it. I could hear the rustle of clothing as you did the same on the other side.

I could see what your expression would look like in my mind, almost as clearly as if you were standing in front of me.

The guilt and embarrassment that would color your cheeks, the tears that hadn’t stopped.

I could see you so clearly, from all the time spent watching you.

My fingers twitched with the need to have a pencil in them and blank paper underneath them, to draw you. Before my hands could make fists, though, they were stopped by the door. My fingers had slid under the one-inch gap between the door and the floor.

That’s how I got the idea of how to talk to you.

Just like how Mikey and I would talk when I was locked in my room going through withdrawal.

Notes.

Notes we slipped back and forth under my door.

I didn’t know if you would answer my ‘You know I’m not mad, right?’

But I rolled the pencil and paper under the door, anyway.

You answered, but the reply surprised me more.

‘You should be.’

‘Why?’ My most obvious response.

I didn’t get a response back right away, but I wasn’t going to rush you. You needed time to answer and a way to phrase it. You have always been a man of action, not words.

Grabbing another pencil from my dresser, as I had rolled the other under the door to you, I sat back down with my sketchbook, flipped to an open page and started drawing you again.

The way you had looked sitting on my bed, bloody and hurt, like an avenging angel back from a fight. The fire and determination shining through your eyes, even if you lost, it seemed you won. The tears trailing down your cheeks were not for yourself, but for others.

Even through the paper and graphite you could see your heart. Once again showing in everything you did.

So caught up, as I was, when the paper slid back under the door and hit my ankle, I almost screamed. I had been so wrapped up in drawing-you I had forgotten about person-you.

The reply made me see red.

You? Broken, worthless, unloved, damned, not good enough to live? Is that the shit your boyfriend had spouted at you?

Is that what kept you tossing and turning some nights? What you hid under your smile?

You could probably only barely make sense of the scrawl across the paper.

And once again, the paper was dotted with another ‘Why?’

This time from you.

Because your smile, your touch, the way you care. The way you hold yourself, stand up for your friends, treat everyone equally (even animals), are not afraid to show you care. The way your eyes shine when you make someone smile when they felt they were going to cry, how you will always be there for your friends and even strangers if they need a listening ear.

Who wouldn’t love you? Who doesn’t love you? Why can’t you see how amazing you are.

I wrote only the reasons I love you, why your friends love you, why I was in love with you. I could only wish the rest. Wish you could see.

I also stuck the picture I had been drawing of you under the door. I could only hop you got the message, the courage and strength it showed. I wasn’t trying to woo you or something.

I didn’t get a note back for a while. This wait seemed longer. I couldn’t think of anything to draw, even my doodles were off, somehow.

“Frank, please come out. It’s late, we should dress your wounds and get to bed. I won’t ask questions, we won’t talk if you don’t want to. Tomorrow is Saturday and we can sleep in, but please don’t stay in there all night. Or at least let me grab you some blankets and pillows.”

And you let me tend to your wounds, but we didn’t talk.

I hadn’t expected to.

None of the cuts were deep, but there was a lot of blood to clean off you and the brusing would be horrific, but I fixed you as best as possible.

I set you in bed and tucked you in.

Maybe it was a little unnecessary, but I wanted to show you I cared, it wasn’t just a way to touch you.

I turned out the lights and listened as your breaths turned from fake sleeping- to your deep uneven breaths of sleep.

I fell asleep to that.

* * *

You were gone when I woke up the next morning. Well, afternoon. Rolling over my face hit paper, the crinkle of it unmistakeable.

'Dear Gerard,

I'm writing this because... well, I am not as good with words as you, but I couldn't do this face to face. Fuck it, okay?

So maybe Chris was abusive, but I really thought he loved me. And through it all, I still love him.  
Maybe I shouldn't but tell my heart that.

I am really sorry about the kiss. It was just.... you were there and you cared and Chris had been cheating on me and you were so nice and it just happened. I didn't mean to. I wasn't thinking. I know you think I was playing with your emotions. I mean, you just told me you were in love with me, ya know. And.... I'm not explaining very well at all....

I do like you, I don't love you. And I won't be ready for a relationship for a long time. I am not sure how fast your heart falls out of unrequited love, but I know it won't be soon.

But I promise I will try. Not to hurt you more, or for some kind of pity-dating. I don't do that shit. But, I feel like it would work out. I can see how it would work out in my head. I just don''t have the...... I don't know what I have but I don't have it.

But I will try and make this work, even if we have to stay friends, let's be best friends.

Wow, that sounded like a second grader wrote it.

I will make this work. Watch me.

~Frank

P.S Thanks for cleaning me up.'

I couldn't help but smile at your note, I knew all this, that you never meant to hurt me or yourself.

And I know you can make it work, I know because I watch you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you guys liked it. The ending is a little diffrent than my usual style, but I felt it fit.
> 
> AND IT IS FINALLY FINISHED!
> 
> Comments are amazing, constructive critism is wanted, I know there is a lot to work on, but what stuck out most to you.
> 
> Once again, this was written for a contest- The Qutoes Contest. (on Mibba)
> 
> Thank-you beautifuls!
> 
> Title Credt: Viva la Vida- Coldplay
> 
> Love,  
> RedRomRomance

**Author's Note:**

> Title credit: Chess in Concert (2008 cast) I Know Him So Well
> 
> For the lovely Quote Contest By solanaceae.
> 
> I don't know how to link. ^///^ Could someone help me on that?
> 
> Hope You Liked! Second chapter should be up really soon. Before the 15th of March. And this time I will not be a meanie lying pants-face.
> 
> Love,  
> RedRomRomance


End file.
